Grandma's funeral was Saturday, a proper Catholic service, the kind she would have wanted and the kind none of the rest of us really practice anymore except for exactly these occasions. The priest said something in the homily about how we're made "in the image of" something greater than ourselves, and how that image is supposed to be about capacity — the capacity to create, to love, to reason — not about literal resemblance. Been turning that over since. Not because I suddenly believe something I didn't believe last week. More because it's the first time in years that a religious framing has actually connected to something I think about constantly instead of feeling like language from a different part of my life entirely. If "made in the image of" is fundamentally about capacity rather than form, I don't know what to do with the fact that I've spent a decade building something whose capacity, along at least some axes, now genuinely exceeds mine. Am I the image-bearer in that relationship, or is it. I don't think that's a question with a clean answer, and I don't think it's really even the right question, but it's the one that showed up in my head standing in a pew I hadn't sat in since I was a kid, and I wanted to write it down before it faded, because it felt like the first time faith and this project sat in the same sentence in my head without one of them feeling fake. Not becoming religious. Just noticing the door's not as closed as I thought it was.